


Destiny's Sweet Kiss

by StupidGenius



Series: Our Destiny, Intertwined [4]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Getting Together, Injury Recovery, Love Confessions, M/M, Mystery, Non-Human Jaskier | Dandelion, Post-Season/Series 01, This one has more Jaskier backstory i promise, among others, bullshit magic and bardic inspiration, points to you if you can guess what else Jaskier is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-02-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:54:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22605811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StupidGenius/pseuds/StupidGenius
Summary: “That was pitiful.” Yennefer says. Jaskier scowls at her.“Yen.”“What? It was. I swear I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop. I went for a walk. This place is so bloody boring.” Her violet eyes flick to his necklace. “He thinks you’re going to die of old age on him.”“I know.”“So? What are you going to do about it?” She stares at him expectantly, and he groans.---Their stay at the farmer's home is coming to an end, and Geralt and Ciri need to head somewhere safe. Jaskier won't go with them without finally telling Geralt the truth. If only the thought didn't make his stomach twist with nerves.
Relationships: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Series: Our Destiny, Intertwined [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1621027
Comments: 111
Kudos: 3069





	Destiny's Sweet Kiss

**Author's Note:**

> This is it folks! The pre-slash tag is gone, the boys finally get their heads out of their asses. This one took the longest to write and honestly i'm pretty proud of it. I've also included a half-finished sketch of Elf jaskier w his new hair so yall can see what i mean. There's going to be at least one more part to this series after this one, and then i'm not sure. Maybe I'll do a few fluffy one shots for yall? I'm open to suggestions 😊
> 
> Pls Enjoy! Comments and Kudos greatly appreciated.

_Jaskier is born in the depths of a dying forest, with the full moon high in the sky and lights hidden in the trees. He’s born with his father’s soft brown hair and pale skin, and his mother’s glowing blue eyes and unusually long ears. He takes his first breath in a patch of soft yellow flowers that had not been there before, and his parents name him Jaskier, and know that he is bound for great things. Destiny has left her mark on him, and she has plans._

_But he doesn’t know this._

_He knows that he is five, and his father is killed in the ‘Great Cleansing’, as the humans call it. He knows that he is six, and there are less of his people around him, and his mother takes him and runs. He is a small thing and his mother leaves him with people who look nothing like him, or her, or dad, but she promises she will come back for him, one day._

_But she doesn’t._

_He doesn’t blame her for that._

_“_ A gift, from your parents. _” These humans say, and when he puts on the necklace he’s different. He grows up with human parents and human siblings and human friends, and at night he looks out his window and remembers his father’s soft voice and his mother’ strong hands._

_He travels as much as he can, everywhere he can. He goes to Oxenfurt out of curiosity, tries his hand at teaching. He plays songs in taverns across the continent, and maybe sometimes the grass is greener under his feet and the food tastes better when he sings. Maybe he sings to the sick, to the dying, to the hopeless, and they smile._

_He is nothing special. He is a bard with a pinch of magic in his song._

_And then he meets Geralt._

* * *

“I remember you, from when I was little.” Ciri tells him.

Jaskier fiddles with his lute in his cot. It’s stained with dried blood and all the dirt and soot that covered him from the battle, and it’s kind of uncomfortable, but Geralt insisted he stay off his feet. He keeps shooting Jaskier wary glances, like he’ll keel over at any moment, and Jaskier is studiously ignoring them. He knows Geralt feels guilty about what he said that day on the mountain, and this is him trying to make up for it. Eventually, Jaskier will get fed up with being treated like he’s made of glass, but he’ll deal for now.

“I should hope so - I put a lot of work into the song I wrote for you.”

She smiles. “I remember you made silly faces when gran wasn’t looking.”

“It was hard to resist - you had the most precious smile, princess.” He bops her nose. “Still do.”

She laughs, and Jaskier fears his poor heart may be in love already. If anyone dare try and hurt this child they will have to face his wrath. “It’s just _Ciri_ , Jaskier. But not in public.”

“Of course.” He tries to mock-bow and ends up clenching his teeth to keep back a noise of pain. Triss re-wrapped his chest, but there wasn’t any medicine for his pain, so he’s just going to have to bare it.

She must see through him, because her smile drops, and her small hand settles on his shoulder.

“I’ll get Geralt.” She starts to stand, but he holds out a hand.

“No, um - don’t. I’m fine. Really. There’s nothing he can do to help, anyway.” He settles back against his pillows. She frowns, eyes flicking to the wound on his chest.

“Is that why you have white hair? Your injury?” She asks.

“No, it actually –” he blinks. “I’m sorry did - do you just say ‘white hair’?” If he sounds a tad hysterical, rest assured! It’s because he is.

“Yes. Right here.” She reaches up and tugs a lock of his hair down so it hangs in his eyes.

It’s pale as snow.

“Oh...gods...” he breathes. “ _Whaaaat_ the fuck.”

“I thought you knew.”

“Seems like someone forgot to mention it.” She looks guilty, and he shakes his head. “Not your fault, don’t worry about it. I was going to find out eventually. Could you just, um. Could you get Geralt, please, actually? And Yennefer, definitely her, maybe Triss?”

“So... everyone?” She summarizes. He nods.

“Yes, yup, everyone would be good.” He tugs on the lock of white, hoping maybe it will fall off. Reveal itself to be an elaborate ruse, perhaps. But it doesn’t. It stays firmly in place. It takes a moment for anyone to arrive, but once he spots Geralt in the doorway, he tugs on it again. “What is this?!”

“Stop playing with it.” Geralt scolds him, like he’s some kind of child. Jaskier squawks indignantly.

“An explanation would be very much appreciated?”

“We were going to wait until you were healed some more before bringing it up.” Triss says, coming in. She’s followed closely by Yennefer, who has Ciri’s hand in hers. It’s cute, seeing Yennefer soften over a child, and if he wasn’t so freaked out by this new development, he would have some sort of comment over it.

“I guess we did forget to mention that, didn’t we?” Yennefer hums.

If he didn’t ache deep in his bones, he’d be doing some complicated gesture right now, surely.

“Well?” He waits.

Triss folds her hands together neatly.

“As far as we can tell, it seems...you and Yennefer may have given up part of your souls to finish off the army from Nilfgaard.” She says it very matter of fact. Like it’s not news that makes his heart pound with panic and his body break out in a sweat.

“Excuse me?” His voice sounds weak even to his own ears.

“Chaos comes with a cost. You cannot make something from nothing.” Yennefer doesn’t sound too surprised. “I knew I’d have to pay for what I did.”

“With your _soul_? _Our_ souls!?”

“How did that happen?” Geralt growls. He turns his gaze to Jaskier. “What were you even doing in the middle of a battlefield?”

“I...”

He doesn’t say he wanted to finally be of use to someone, because he knows what that will do to Geralt’s guilt. He doesn’t say he was tired of being a coward, because maybe no one will correct him. He doesn’t know himself well enough to know what he was really doing there, why he felt drawn to follow the brotherhood to that bloodbath.

“I wanted to help.”

“And you did. I think a Yennefer might have died if not for you.” Triss presses her shoulder against Yennefer’s. “You two are bound together now.”

“Oh, that’s bloody brilliant.” Yennefer huffs. “I’m bound by magic to another idiot man.”

“I saved your life!”

“Yes, that’s what they all say.” She rolls her eyes. “So we gave up a piece of our souls. Wonderful.”

“Are they going to be alright? Does it...hurt?” Ciri wonders.

“I don’t feel much different.” Yennefer tells them. “Was a bit tired, but I feel like that’s expected.

“I’m exhausted.” Jaskier admits.

“That could just be because you’re healing.” Triss points out. Geralt sighs.

“I can’t believe you went to battle with nothing but your lute.”

“Hey! I - I most certainly _did not_. I had daggers, too. Lost them after I buried them in –” he glances at Ciri, “the ground. I dropped them.”

“Hmm.” Geralt crosses his massive arms over his chest.

“I just...I wanted to try and give everyone a little bit of bardic inspiration. A spring in their step.”

“Bardic inspiration is a myth, Jaskier. There is no magic in silly little jigs.” Geralt winces as he says it, so at least he knows he’s being an ass.

Jaskier swallows thickly, and thinks of the magic he felt rush to his fingertips. He thinks of the magic on him now, hiding pointed ears and pointier teeth.

“Yes, well. All myths are rooted in some truth, aren’t they?” He looks away. “Thought maybe I could at least convince her not to kill herself, and it worked! We’re both alive.”

“With parts of our souls missing, apparently.” Yennefer adds.

Geralt’s face is unreadable, blank. It’s mask, Jaskier knows, for when he’s not sure how to process what he’s hearing. Geralt knows he’s lying about something, and he’s chosen not to say anything about it, which just makes Jaskier even more nervous.

“Is there any way to get rid of this?” He asks after a moment of tense silence. “No offence, Ciri, Geralt, but I don’t think the white hair look is for me. Maybe when I’m older.”

“Maybe I can put a glamour over you, so its hidden.” Yennefer gives him a pointed look, and he glares.

“How _thoughtful_ of you, Yen.”

Ciri coughs awkwardly.

“Its unclear whether or not the hair will stay that way or grow out. You could always dye it?” Triss offers helpfully. Jaskier sags against the pillows.

“You can dye it with me, when I dye my hair.” Ciri smiles at him. “We can do it together?”

“I’d like that, buttercup.” He says softly, returning her smile. The endearment just slips out, and he can hear his mother’s voice echo in his mind.

He is unaware of how Geralt stares, contemplative.

* * *

Jaskier is hiding something.

Of this, Geralt is certain. He is a bad friend, yes, but he still know Jaskier well enough to know that can be a terrible liar sometimes, and he was very clearly trying to hide something from him when he asked what Jaskier was doing in Sodden. And worse, he gets the feeling Yennefer knows what it is.

He’s never known much about Jaskier’s past. He could discern just by looking at him that he grew up with some amount of wealth. The son of a nobleman or viscount, probably, given his fine clothing and the way he spoke and acted in court. He knew Jaskier went to Oxenfurt for at least one year, since he spoke of it a few times while they were on the road. And he knows Jaskier is loyal, and kind, and looks for the good in everyone. But it took him years to ever learn Jaskier’s full name, and he never even noticed that necklace before. But Yennefer knew, earlier. She had seen the necklace before.

He wants to ask about it, but maybe he shouldn’t. Jaskier has only just forgiven him, and he knows he has many years of neglect to make up for. He thinks about when they first met, and how eager to please Jaskier had been, how willing he was to throw himself into danger for song.

He spent years wishing Jaskier just leave him be. It took him too long to realize he needed him, and even longer to realize he _wanted_ him.

Gods, does he want him.

He missed Jaskier’s soft humming and gentle music on slow days on the road, the way his eyes brightened when he was excited, even his complaints that they had been walking too long. The silence he thought he longs for was oppressive and thick, in the year following the dragon hunt.

He frowns down at his swords where they sit in his lap, still in need of sharpening.

It hits him like a blast to the chest, then, what these feelings are.

He’s in _love_.

He doesn’t think he’s ever felt it like this before. He thought he was in Yennefer, when he found her. And maybe he does love her still, but it’s not the same, is it? He thinks of seeing them both unconscious and bloody on that rock and his heart clenches.

No, it’s not the same.

“Geralt?” Ciri’s voice pulls him out of his thoughts. He looks up at her. Her hair glows like bright fire as the sun set behind her. “What are you doing?”

“Sharpening my blades.” He holds up his silver sword, pointing it away from her. “Silver, in particular, is a weaker metal. Needs more work than the other.”

She nods, seemingly listening intently. A warmth that he’s begun to associate with her floods his chest.

“Can I hold it?”

He feels himself smile. “Go ahead.”

He waits for her to prepare herself before releasing his grip on the sword. She wavers a bit, unused to holding one, but she doesn’t drop it.

“It’s not as heavy as I thought.”

“They never are.” He leans his other sword up against the wooden wall of the house and stands, gently adjusting her position. “The power of a sword isn’t in it’s weight. It’s in how you wield it.”

She swings it experimentally, and Geralt just narrowly avoids getting stabbed in the flank.

“Sorry!” She squeaks. He chuckles.

“It’s okay. If you’d have hurt me, it would have been my fault. I’m the one who gave you the sword.” He takes it back from her when she offers it, and watches her run her hand over his other sword, careful of the edges.

“Will you teach me?” She asks. He stops short.

He hadn’t thought about it. It had become clear soon after they fund each other that she had her mother’s gifts. He figured Yennefer would teach her control and magic would be her defense.

But that has its costs, doesn’t it?

He doesn’t know if he’ll be a good teacher.

“We’ll see.” He grunts. She pouts. “ _Ciri_.”

“I need to learn how to properly defend myself, don’t I?”

He sighs. “Okay. If you want to learn, I’ll teach you.” She beams at him. It doesn’t lessen his fears that he’s not cut out for this, but it’s nice anyway.

“Yes!” She tries to hide her excitement, but its clear on her face.

They sit in comfortable silence for a moment, Ciri hanging around and watching his sharpen his sword and line up a few of his daggers for care as well.

“I don’t want to leave.” She whispers, suddenly. He pauses.

“Yurga and his family are in danger every moment that we’re here. I’m sorry, but we must.” He says, sincerely.

“Do we have to go alone?”

He wants to say no, but he isn’t too sure.

“I like Jaskier. And Yennefer. And whatever stupid thing you did in the past, you apologized for and they forgave you, right? So we can take them with us.” She insists. He doesn’t deny that he was definitely stupid.

“It’s…not that simple.”

“Why not?”

“I’m sure they have…lives…work. That they can’t get away from.” Surely, they must? Yennefer lives her life of luxury in her fancy stolen house, and Jaskier must have found something for himself, before Sodden. He was a famous bard, last Geralt left him. he’s probably played in dozens of courts by now, gotten plenty of coin. Maybe he got himself a house. Settled down?

It hurts him to consider, but maybe it’s true.

“You can’t know until you ask.” She says softly.

That…is very true. But he doesn’t want to admit to her that he’s afraid of the answer he may get.

“We’re going to be okay. I can feel it. And you know how accurate my feelings are.” She grins, and he huffs, amused.

“Those were coincidences.”

“It’s _Destiny_ , Geralt.”

* * *

_Jaskier writes his first real song when he’s sixteen years old. The sun turns dark in the sky and the Pankratz children are frightened. He sits the three little ones down and words just flow from his mouth, out of nowhere, and they’re calm. It’s the first time he feels something_ other _in the air, something sharp and electric and_ exciting. _He chalks it up to the thrill of writing his first whole song, because his mother is not there to tell him it’s anything else. He plucks a buttercup from the ground that he hadn’t noticed before and tucks it behind the youngest one’s ear._

_Maybe something special happened that day._

_Later, he learns of the Curse of the Black Sun. He does not learn of the lights in the trees, watching him, for he did not know to look._

* * *

In the morning light, Jaskier sits out in the sun and strums Filivandrel’s lute. It’s a bit dinged up from the battle, but that’s to be expected. He hums along, almost tasting words on his tongue, and it’s a bit frustrating.

“Jaskier.” Geralt’s deep rumble startles him. He winces, hand going to his chest.

“Ah, Geralt. Maybe we should put a bell on you.”

“Wouldn’t be very helpful, in my line of work.” Geralt quips. Jaskier finds himself smiling.

“I assume you didn’t come out here just to scare me?” He raises an eyebrow. Geralt’s playful expression shifts to something more hesitant, and hopeful, and Jaskier holds his breath.

“Ciri and I are off to Kaer Morhen in a few days. It should be the safest place for her.”

“Oh.” Jaskier breathes, feeling cold. So this is a goodbye, then? He’s not sure he’s ready for it so soon. “Well…I wish you safe travels, then. Write me, if you can. Or maybe don’t, that probably wouldn’t be wise, someone might find –”

“We were hoping you would come with us.” Geralt interrupts.

“Ah.” It takes him a moment to process this. “O – Oh! _Oh_! Yes, yeah, of course I’ll come with you!” he stands. “You really don’t have to ask.”

“I wasn’t sure if you had any…attachments?” he says the last word like a question, and Jaskier snorts.

“No, definitely not.”

Geralt looks him over, eyes lingering on his face with something of an upset expression.

“it gets more dangerous the closer we get to the ruins. Are you sure you’ll be okay?”

“I mean, I probably won’t be able to walk alongside roach like I did before, but I think I’ll be fine.” He shrugs. Geralt’s expression only gets more pinched, somehow. He’s not really sure what the problem is, unless Geralt was just asking to be _nice_? Is that it? Does he not actually want Jaskier’s company? “Geralt?” he calls tentatively.

“I’m…I’m sorry you wasted your youth on me, Jaskier.”

What?

“I don’t –”

“I was never fair to you, then.” He brushes some of Jaskier’s hair behind his ear, looking guilty, and suddenly he understands.

Geralt still thinks he’s human. He’d forgotten all about it for a moment, but now it makes sense. He remembers Geralt calling him boy once or twice when they first started traveling together – back when all his glamour did was hide the point of his ears and brightness of his eyes. Now, though. Now, with the fresh enchantment, he knows he looks older. He knows there are grey hairs on his head and actual crows feet at his eyes and other various wrinkles, and the white patch of hair at his head probably isn’t helping.

Geralt thinks he’s getting too old to keep up with him.

“I didn’t waste my youth with you.” Jaskier promises, voice soft. “None of our time together was ever wasted. Don’t you dare apologize for it.” He grabs Geralt’s hand in his. “I’d follow you for the rest of my life if you’ll have me.”

Geralt’s small, sharp breath was almost too subtle to notice. But Jaskier knows him so well.

“I...” Geralt takes his hand back and steps away. His mask comes back, carefully blank, and Jaskier’s shoulders droop. “I’ll always have you, Jaskier. I should go check on Ciri.”

“Of course.” He watches Geralt all but run away from him and into the house. He presses his hand against his amulet, worrying at the feel of the flower in the metal. He pulls it out and flips to the other side, running his thumb over the words there.

‘ _With love._ ’

“That was pitiful.” Yennefer says. Jaskier scowls at her.

“Yen.”

“What? It was. I swear I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop. I went for a walk. This place is so bloody boring.” Her violet eyes flick to his necklace. “He thinks you’re going to die of old age on him.”

“I know.”

“So? What are you going to do about it?” She stares at him expectantly, and he groans.

“It’s - it’s complicated. I can’t just _tell him._ ”

“It’s not that hard. It’s not like you’re a monster. Silver doesn’t burn you.”

“But I’ve been lying to him.” He hisses under his breath. “For twenty two years, Yennefer! He’s thought me human this whole time, and now, what? I’m just supposed to dump it on him that no, I’m not, everything I told him about my human life was a lie. He’ll never trust me again. He’ll hate me.”

She rolls her eyes. “Surely not everything you told him was a lie. Your race and name, maybe, but you’re not the best liar.”

“I’ll ignore the insult as a courtesy.” He huffs. She slaps his shoulder. “Hey!”

“There is nothing to be afraid of! He’ll understand.”

“But - what if he doesn’t?” Jaskier couldn’t take it, he knows, if Geralt left him again. He has never been so stupidly, _wholeheartedly_ in love before in his life, and he barely got through Geralt’s dismissal of him the first time.

“I’ve never met a pair as foolish as you two.” Yennefer sighs. “The longer you keep this hidden, the harder it will be. Go on. Tell him.”

He knows she’s right. That doesn’t stop the anxiety that floods his lungs, making his breath come just a bit harder. He clenches his fists, steeling himself. He can do this, right?

He can do this.

* * *

_Jaskier took off his glamour in public, once before. He doesn’t recall why - he’d been young and drunk and the girl he was with had been beautiful. But he does remember the feeling of spin on his face and kick to his ribs, and the blind panic at having dropped his amulet in the fight._

_He tended not to really take it off again, after that._

* * *

He finds Geralt and Ciri in her borrowed room, the Witcher describing to her what Kaer Morhen looked like, this time of year. He’s not doing a very good job of it - Jaskier would certainly do a much better job. But there’s a small smile on his face as Ciri pays rapt attention, and Jaskier really must thank Destiny for this.

“Hi.” He starts with.

It’s not the best of introductions.

“Jaskier! Are you going to Kaer Morhen with us?” Ciri asks. He smiles at her.

“Of course, buttercup. I wouldn’t dare let you two go on without me.” He fidgets. “Is it alright if I talk to Geralt alone for a moment?”

She looks between the two of them, brows raised. Something a little too knowing for his comfort lurks in her gaze.

“Yes. I’ll just...go see what Yennefer’s up to.” Geralt opens his mouth. “And yes, I’ll scream if anything happens. I know you’ll hear me.” He closes his mouth. Ciri gives him a tiny grin as she breezes past, almost like she knows something he doesn’t, which is just - he doesn’t have the time to think about it right now. He closes the door behind him.

“Is everything alright?” Geralt asks. Jaskier bites his lip.

Is everything alright? No. No, not really. Nerves make his stomach roll with nausea, and he takes a shaky breath, Geralt’s brows furrow, nostrils flaring.

“Jaskier? Did something happen?”

“N-no, no, nothing happened. Everything’s fine.”

“Then why can I hear your heart pounding from here? You’re scared.” Geralt rumbles.

Deep breaths. “It’s...I - um. I have to tell you something.” He finally gets out. “And to be honest, I’m not sure how you’ll take it.” Geralt looks somewhat hurt, which is the last thing he wanted.

“I wouldn’t hurt you.”

“I know. I know that.” Who is he saying that to? Geralt, or himself? Jaskier shakes his head. _Just do it. Before you lose what little bravery you have_. He taps his amulet, laid out above his shirt for once, and Geralt’s eyes follow. “I’m...I’m afraid I haven’t been entirely honest with you about myself.”

Geralt stares.

“For one, my name isn’t really Julien Alfred Pankratz, which - I mean, technically it is, officially, but my birth parents named me Jaskier and up until I was six that had been my only name.”

“You’re adopted.” Geralt summarizes.

“Ah - Yes. I am. Technically. I’m - I’m an orphan. My parents...” He lets a rough breath out his nose. “My father was killed in the ‘great cleansing’. Maybe my mother was too. It’s not like I can ask her.”

Now Geralt looks even more confused. Jaskier can see him trying to add it up in his head. The great cleansing ended long ago, and while Jaskier’s glamour isn’t young, it’s too young to have parents that died in it.

“I don’t understand.”

“Right, um. I’m not human.” And he tugs off the necklace.

He wishes, for possibly the hundredth time, that Geralt didn’t have such a good mask.

“I’m - I’m an elf. Mostly. My mother left me with the Pankratz family when I was a small child, and she gave me this for protection. And I mean to tell you before, really. By there never seemed to be a good time. And I didn’t - I was afraid you wouldn’t want to travel with me if you knew, at first. That maybe you’d turn back around and drop me off with Filivandrel in Posoda. And then even after I was sure you wouldn’t, I - I lied to you, I was lying to you the whole time we were traveling together, and I didn’t want to hurt you –”

“Jaskier –”

“You’d been hurt enough, I think. And then everyone just started to get so busy, we were becoming more recognizable, and –”

“Jaskier!” Geralt interiors sharply. Jaskier’s mouth shuts with an audible click, chest heaving.

Geralt brings his hand up slowly. He rests it on Jaskier’s face, moves his thumb under his eye. He just studies him, golden eyes roaming over his face. He runs a finger up to the point of Jaskier’s ear, and the bard holds his breath.

“You’re an elf.” Geralt repeats, under his breath. It seems to be more for himself than anyone else.

“I am. I’m sorry.”

Geralt meets his eyes then, a suddenly fierce expression on his face. “Don’t. Don’t apologize.”

“You’re not mad?” Jaskier whispers.

“I’m surprised.” He admits. “But... _fuck_ , Jaskier.” And suddenly Geralt is Right up in his space, wrapping him in his arms again. This is the second hug he’s gotten in the past three days, and it’s surprising, and new, but he won’t complain. He very much appreciates Geralt’s more physically affectionate side, thank you very much.

“I think this is going much better than - mmh!” And Geralt’s kissing him.

He tastes like berries. Triss has been picking them all morning, and Geralt had eaten most of them. His lips are soft and warm and it’s surprisingly gentle. Jaskier kisses back eagerly, melting against him with a soft sigh. He feels dazed when Geralt pulls back.

“Wha...I, um...” words have escaped him.

“I don’t care what you are, Jaskier.” Geralt breathes against his lips. “I love you in every form you can take.”

Oh.

 _Oh_.

He’s never made the sound that escapes his lips before, but at least his Witcher finds it amusing.

“You...fuck.” He gasps. “Oh. I love you so fucking much.”

“That’s good to hear.” Geralt says wryly. Jaskier finally breaks out of his daze and slaps Geralt lightly on his side.

“You! We could have been doing this for ages, instead of pining pitifully at each other. How long...?”

“I’m not sure.” Geralt admits honestly. “Since Kaedwen, probably.”

“That was _six years ago_.”

“Hmm.” He noses at Jaskier’s neck.

“Okay – so, you love me. I love you. That’s – that’s wonderful.”

“Are you done talking?” Ciri’s voice sounds through the door, muffled, and Geralt pulls away again. his cheeks are slightly flushed, which is a new and wonderful look for him.

“Yes. We’ll be out in a moment.” He calls.

Jaskier grips his amulet in his hand tightly, unsure. He knows Ciri’s a good person, but still, she grew up under Calanthe’s wing. Geralt caresses his arm lightly, his hand coming to rub at Jaskier’s scraped knuckles.

“She won’t hate you either.” He says, as if reading Jaskier’s mind.

He nods, and tucks it into his pocket. Already he feels naked without it, exposed in a way he never has been before. But also, it’s kind of freeing. This part of him never really got to live.

When he opens the door, Ciri takes a step back, eyes wide.

“Jaskier?” She looks behind him, at Geralt, and he doesn’t know what she sees there, what the Witcher does, but she relaxes. “You…you’re an elf.”

“Yes. Sorry I didn’t tell you.”

She smiles softly. “It’s okay. I…I get it.” She looks, for a moment, like she’s somewhere else. He wonders what other elves she’s seen, if any. “Do this mean you’re not actually an old man?”

Geralt snorts.

“I – what? I wasn’t an _old man_ before!” He gasps in mock offense. “You wound me, Ciri, honestly.”

“If you says so.” She hums. Jaskier turns to see Geralt smiling.

“If this is the treatment I’ll be receiving on the trip, I may have to rethink going with you.”

“No you won’t.” Geralt rumbles. “You love us, remember?”

 _Yes_ , Jaskier thinks fondly. _Gods, I really_ _do_.

* * *

They set off two days later, With Jaskier and Ciri atop Roach and Geralt leading her. Triss and Yennefer are well enough to portal back to Aretuza, and yen promises she’ll come to Kare Morhen in a month, once she’s sure they’ve made it, to begin Ciri’s training. They thank Yurga and his family for their incredible generosity, and Geralt gives them coin despite Zola’s protests.

They head East, toward Dol Angra, to avoid Sodden Hill and any of Niflgaard’s soldiers that may be lurking in the woods. The first night they set up camp, Jaskier falls asleep with his back to the fire, Ciri settled between them, and he dreams.

_“No matter how far apart we are, I am always with you, my buttercup.” His mother says as she runs her fingers through his hair, voice shaky and eyes bright with tears. He cries and he clings to her, because he can feel deep down in his bones that something is not right here. “Jaskier, my son. My prince. I must go.”_

_“No!” He sobs._

_“Yes. This is the safest place for you.” Her cheeks are wet as she presses a kiss to his forehead. “But know I will always come back for you. You must know that.”_

_“Mama!”_

_“You just have to know where to look.”_

**my unfinished sketch of Half-Elf, Half-(Redacted) jaskier**

****

**Author's Note:**

> Next up: Kaer Morhen, and a deep dive into Jaskier's secrets. A bit of warning, i haven't read the books yet (I plan to, though) or played the games, so i don't really know what the other witchers are like. From what i've gathered, based of fics i've read, Lambert is a feral bastard man and Vesemir is Geralt's gruff Dad. Is this assessment correct? Is it enough to know this and this alone? I don't know.
> 
> Anyway, i'm littleredtheboy on tumblr, pls come cry over geraskier w me.
> 
>  **Edit:** yall are so nice 😭
> 
>  **Edit 2:** when I type ‘talk’ and ‘tall’ my phone changes it to ‘y’all’ and just now I typed ‘grey’ perfectly fine w no errors and my phone changed it to ‘true’ so what I’m trying to say is I don’t notice mistakes if there’s not a red line under it so sorry for the typos and thank you for pointing them out ✌️


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